Arrested
by basicnsync
Summary: What he remembers could be damning. What he can't remember could be even more so. This is an alternate idea for the episode "Internal Affairs". It was started based on previews and on the premise that when Deeks said he honestly didn't know what IA had on him, he was telling the truth.
1. Chapter 1

Bodies pressed together urgently—no foreplay or niceties of any kind. Her dark hair falling in his face. Perspiration making their bodies even slicker; heat making their breathing even heavier. It was fast—faster than it was supposed to be, but then he wasn't even sure of what he was doing. Could he get into trouble for this? She said this was to thank him. No money changed hands. Still, he worried. He panicked. His labored breathing roared in his head and his ears were filled with the sound of his own heartbeat. It was deafening, and he awoke with a start.

Kensi was sitting up in bed, looking at him as he jerked awake. Her tears glistened in the moonlight, threatening to cascade down her perfect cheekbones. Her knees were drawn up and her arms encircled them. "Deeks, um, who," she hesitated as her voice quavered, "who are you screwing in your dreams?"

"Kens, it's not what you think," he began.

"Oh, it's exactly what I think."

"It's actually a nightmare. Or at least, it's the beginning of one," he said quietly. "From my early LAPD days."

She released an audible sigh. "Oh, God Kens, you know I could never…you know there is no other woman—past, present, future—no other woman who could ever mean anything to me. You are perfect in every way. I count my blessings every day that you are here with me. Honestly." He reached up and wiped at her tears, which had fallen at last. He cursed his weakness for succumbing to the old nightmares after holding them at bay for so long. How much longer could he keep this up?

"Deeks, we need to talk. What happened to the girl? Who was she? Why do you make love to her in your dreams, or nightmares, or whatever the hell?"

He closed his eyes and regretted the games his mind played so, so much. The bits and pieces he could remember were so…damning. What he couldn't remember might be the most damning of all.

"Kensi," he began, "do we have to do this now? What if I promise to take you away to that bed and breakfast you've been pestering me about in Carmel this weekend, and we have a nice, long talk?" He punctuated his sentence with kisses to her hands as he faced her. She still looked miserable and insecure. God, she was beautiful in the moonlight. "I don't want to keep anything from you, Kensi. There are things in my past that I have never shared with anyone, and it's still hard. It's my nature to cover up rather than bare my soul, and I've never wanted to do that with anyone before." He lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "I want to tell you everything, but if I got started tonight, we would not get any more sleep."

She sighed and leaned her cheek against his palm. "I hate that another woman is in your dreams, Deeks. I am a selfish person, and I want to be the only one you dream about," she was stretching back out in the bed, and Marty was thankful that she was a creature of habit who need eight solid hours of sleep. She tried to sound put out with him, but drowsiness was taking the edge off her voice. "You had better make the reservations tomorrow. I want to see the confirmation number."

Even as she tried to sound authoritative, she curled onto her side, pulling his arm over her shoulder, under her breasts, and lacing her fingers in his. He slid his body behind hers, their curves matching in geometric bliss. Translation, reflection, rotation. He would love to live out the positions he used to imagine in ninth grade, sitting in class listening to the Pythagorean theorem. He had dodged another bullet. He'd better not press his luck.

The next couple of days she was quiet and withdrawn, and Marty knew that he had to come clean and tell her what he knew—and what he was afraid of. What if it was the end of their relationship? Marty knew she saw things in black and white. She had made it clear she could never support or forgive someone who had committed murder, hadn't she? Was he fooling himself that she didn't mean _him_? How could he minimize the impact? He had thought it must not have happened, or surely it would have caught up to him before now. He had lied by omission, leaving out the circumstances leading up to Officer Boyle's murder and his fear that he had been involved. When he said he didn't know, that he didn't remember any involvement; that was not a lie. But what if he had done it? The fear made him want to vomit, and yet he began to look forward to getting things out in the open.

Sitting next to him at their shared desk, Sam leaned over and blew in his left ear. "Earth to Deeks! What's up with you, Shaggy?"

"Just dreaming of you, Sam." Marty quipped with a grin.

"Hey, if you need to talk to a married man about, you know, female issues, well maybe I can shed some light on the fairer sex."

"Oh, no, Sam. Did you just blow in my ear and mention sex? What about those boundaries, huh?"

"Did someone say sex?" asked Nell as she walked by. "Deeks, you're not talking about your first girlfriend's mom again, are you? I've got to tell you, Eric's dad looks pretty good for his age."

"Ughh, Nell. Please stop! My retinas are burning and I've never even seen Eric's dad."

"Oh, hey, you want to meet him?" asked Eric brightly as he walked by, hearing only the last part of the comment. " My parents are coming into town next week."

"Let's just go, Eric—nothing to talk about here," Nell said quickly. "Enjoy your day off tomorrow, Deeks. Kensi told me to text you the confirmation number in case you forgot it, so here goes," she said as she fired off a text.

Deeks cleared his throat and said, "B as in boy, D as in David, 632914-M as in mast…"

"Hey!" yelled three voices at once as Eric, Nell, and Sam reacted before he could finish the word.

"MasterCard, guys! Get your minds out of the gutter," he admonished, grinning.

The Vagabond's Inn was heavenly, and Deeks was so glad he and Kensi had each used a vacation day to make the trip ahead of the weekend traffic. Their bedroom (the part Deeks cared about most) sported a distressed wooden headboard and a tufted leather couch at the end of the bed. He chuckled as he gauged Kensi's mood. She had been friendly, sweet, but quiet still. Not at all "normal."

"What's so funny?" she asked him.

"This place is perfect," he said. "Shabby-chic. I look shabby, but my place is fairly chic. You look chic, but your place can be a little shabby. See how well we complement each other?" He asked, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her close to him. "You are soft, but I'm hard," she rolled her eyes. "You go in, I go out…"

"You make bad jokes. I pretend to think they're funny," she continued as he covered her mouth with his. When they broke apart, she leaned back to look up at him. "I find it more than a little odd that you use decorating terminology so well! How many guys recognize shabby-chic?"

"Well, it is stated on the brochure," he retorted, reaching both hands down to lift her face and draw her in for a long, long kiss.

Things were definitely looking up, but Kensi was determined. She stepped away and said, "Put that on hold until after we talk." He grimaced at the thought. She rested her forehead on his. "You promised, Marty. I want to know. I need to know. I deserve to know."

"Yeah, no, I mean I know you do, Kens. OK, let's get comfortable, if that's even possible," he said as he pulled her next to him on the sofa at the foot of the bed. It was wide enough that they could turn and face each other.

"Does the girl in your dreams have anything to do with the IA investigation?" she prompted him.

"Um, well, I am not sure." As Kensi bit her lip and shook her head, he was worried he had lost her trust already. "Baby, please don't turn on me. Not yet. Hear me out. I have been so afraid that the truth would drive you away from me—I've been scared to death to tell it all to you. What I know of it."

"Deeks, it's me. You know I will support you through whatever this is. I just want you to be honest."

He took a long, ragged breath and cleared his throat. "Oh my, so here goes nothing—and maybe everything. OK, so you know the trouble with my first partner?" She shuddered at the thought of the veteran officer using scalding coffee to get a suspect to talk and then putting a gun in Marty's mouth when he confronted him. "Ok, well, there was something else he did. This group of prostitutes hung out on Simpson St., and he would, um, encourage them to provide services so he would look the other way."

"Oh, my word, Deeks, I had no idea that LAPD was so corrupt!"

"No, no, no. Most of the officers are not corrupt. In fact, I think it is a great organization and many people put their lives on the line everyday. It was just this core group, and I was too new and stupid, and I didn't know who to go to.

"Well, anyway, one of the girls came in to a bar I was in one night—off duty. We were just chatting. She wasn't there to work, or at least, not in front of me. She reached for a drink, though, and I saw bruises on her arm. Then I looked closer and saw finger and thumbprint bruises on her jaws where someone held her face roughly. I mean, we had been trained to spot signs of abuse, and hell, I had enough growing up. I told her I could help her get away from her pimp, and that she didn't need to let him hurt her. She started laughing and said it wasn't her pimp—he didn't like the girls to get marked up. She said it was my partner."

"Oh, no. What did you do?"

"I confronted him again. I was prepared for his reaction, and I got the better of him when it turned physical. I knew better than to go higher up, but I convinced him that I would anyway if he bothered Tina again. He left her alone after that. I think he just found another group of girls outside our patrol area, but anyway, things got better for Tina. He left me alone, too, and recommended me for undercover work to get me away from him. Nobody wanted to do it because of the isolation and the danger, but I didn't mind either of those.

"I saw her again about a month later, and she, um, asked me to come to her motel room and I, uh, did. She said she wanted to thank me for keeping Boyle away, and she thought I looked like I could use a tension reliever. I had been drinking, and I was so keyed up, and… I did." He hung his head. "I was so nervous—I'd had one-night stands before, but this didn't feel right. I felt like I was using her, and it made me ashamed." Deeks looked away from Kensi.

He let out a long, ragged breath. "Boyle and I were re-assigned shortly after that. After a couple months, I was surprised to see his number on my cell phone. When I answered, he said someone wanted to talk to me, and he put Tina on. She asked me to come to the hotel, but I could tell she was only saying what her made her say. I knew she was scared to death of him. He got impatient with her and I heard him slap her. Then he got on the phone and I could tell he was high on something. He said, 'Come save your little whore, jackass!' I heard her scream as he hit her again. I jumped in my car and drove to the hotel without thinking…without backup. I had a plan. I would restrain him, let him sleep it off, and let her get out of there.

"When I rolled up, I saw his personal car parked in front of one of the row of rooms. I knocked, but there was no answer. I heard a muffled voice like a cry for help coming from inside. I tried the door, and it was unlocked. I called out for him, but he didn't answer. I heard the cry for help again, and I pushed the door all the way open and went in the room. Tina was slumped against the wall. Something must have hit me from behind and I went down. That's it. That's all. I never saw Boyle—or at least, I don't remember seeing him."

"Go on."

"I woke up hours later. It was around dawn. I was in the back seat of my car in a parking lot. A security guard was tapping on my window, telling me I couldn't sleep there or he would call the police. I figured Boyle had dumped me there, and I was surprised he hadn't done something worse, like taken my clothes. Anyway, once I got my bearings, I drove home. I was off that day, so I slept off one hell of a headache."

"Did you go back to the hotel?" Kensi asked, in full investigative mode.

"No. I assumed he'd had his laugh, and as much as I hated myself for failing to check on her, I figured that whatever happened to Tina had already happened, and there wasn't much I could do for her. I didn't know Boyle was dead until I heard it on the news that night. I just assumed Tina had unloaded his gun on him, but they found no prints, so the investigation went nowhere."

"So you never told anyone?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, knowing how it would sound if he answered negatively, knowing how one bad decision becomes the foundation for hundreds more bad decisions. "Turns out other officers knew of his reputation after all. It was just accepted that this would have happened sooner or later. No trace of Tina was found, and it was just dropped. As far as I know, the LAPD never even knew who she was. I figured if she got away clean, then good for her. She didn't deserve to be treated like that."

He took a long, deep breath. "But as far as what happened that night, I honestly don't remember. I was worried when I first heard he had been shot. Hell, I was petrified. I was afraid that I had done it. Worried enough to lose fifteen pounds and go for a couple of weeks with hardly any sleep. Worried that I had just blocked it from my mind, and at any minute there would be someone coming to arrest me and tell me that there was evidence I had killed him. And what about Tina? I never heard from her again. What if…what if I had become like my father and took up where he left off? What if I had hurt her like Boyle did? I had to remind myself I had a lump on the head because I worried I finally had the psychotic breakdown all of my therapists were afraid I would have. It took a long time for me to relax at all. I threw myself into working undercover."

Kensi could not mask her concern. She frowned, started to talk, then got up and paced the width of the room in thought. "Deeks, this is bad. This looks bad. This feels bad. How could you keep this from me? From the team? Hetty would have helped—we all would have helped!"

"Kensi, I honestly pushed this as far from my mind as I could. I was so relieved that no fingers were pointed at me. Anyway, I haven't allowed myself to think about this for years- not until the IA investigation, and I had to start thinking of what they could have on me."

Kensi sat back down beside him. "OK—well, we haven't heard from them in a couple months, so maybe someone mentioned you as his partner, and they tailed you for awhile and checked into your NCIS record, and that's it—they found no reason to pursue this. Breathe, Deeks," she whispered, putting her hands on his shoulders and resting her forehead against his. When he did breathe, it was full of pent up emotion and stress, and he drew her into a tight embrace.

"Kensi, I am so sorry. I am sorry I didn't tell you. I know I should have. I was afraid you would never want anything to do with me again. "

"Deeks, you were being so—You. Being a champion for the downtrodden and calling out the bad guy. I wish you had called in LAPD to the hotel room, but I understand why you hurried over on your own. As long as you can tell me they couldn't have found a gun in the river with your prints on it…"

"No, they found his gun, and that's what he had been shot with. It was wiped clean. If someone had been trying to frame me, they would have been able to put the gun in my hand while I was knocked out so that my prints would be on it." He smiled wistfully. "I always pictured Tina living in Nevada with a husband who is a preacher who knew her whole story and saved her from going back to that lifestyle. They have lots of kids."

"Marty, you know that isn't likely, although it's very sweet." She kissed his cheek and gazed lovingly at him. He couldn't believe she was still there—that she hadn't run off when she heard his tale. He felt such freedom. He felt relieved and empowered at the same time. He leaned over to kiss Kensi, and she responded hungrily. She wanted to show him that she trusted and believed in him. He wanted to show her that she was the most important person in the world to him.

Ninety minutes later, they were walking hand in hand through the cute downtown area, both still glowing after their lovemaking, and basking in the belief they each had that life couldn't get much better. Both were caught unawares when a man in a blue suit approached them saying, "Martin Deeks?"

"Yeah, what's up?" Marty asked.

"Put your hands behind your head. You are under arrest for the murder of Lieutenant Francis Boyle."


	2. Chapter 2

Marty was outwardly compliant. Inwardly, however, was another story. What had he missed? What could they have on him? Had he supposed all wrong? He looked at Kensi, who was pleading with him for answers. Had he lied to her? He wasn't sure.

"I love you," he said shakily. He knew there wasn't time for much more, and he had no idea how long it would before he could talk to her again. Time to practice "conservation of words" as they were taught in law school, whenever time was a factor. There was so much more to that message than the words themselves.

He meant that he had been as honest as he could, and he was sorry he hadn't done so sooner. He meant that he would understand if she decided it was impossible to stand by him, because he wanted her to be safe, happy, and sure of the person she was with. He was not sure of anything, and the old doubts about his actions resurfaced like the bile he could taste in his mouth.

He meant that he did not regret one second of their time together, even the times there was so much unresolved sexual tension that he would have to run 5 miles, work out until he was exhausted, and then shower until his skin wrinkled. He meant his only regret was wasting time. Kensi knew his words were heavy with meaning, and her brain was working overtime to pick up on each nuance.

When she could speak, she asked the arresting officer, "Where are you taking him?"

"Back to LA," he answered as he guided Deeks toward the unmarked car through the few onlookers who had gathered.

Kensi sighed and headed back to her car. Damn, she thought. How can you prove the innocence of someone who isn't sure of it himself? How can someone who hid information for years be found trustworthy? What had the LAPD found that Deeks couldn't remember or possibly neglected to tell her? Damn.

Placing a call to the mission, Kensi knew before Hetty answered that she would already be aware of the arrest. "So, Agent Blye, you are alone, I presume?"

"You know I am. Why didn't you give us a heads-up?" she asked, her desperation evident.

"You are fiercely protective of Mr. Deeks, and I was afraid you would try to hide him away until we could delve into this matter and exonerate him," Hetty reasoned.

"That's exactly what I would have done. You do realize, Hetty, that as a former prosecutor AND a detective, there will be a lot of people in jail who would want to hurt him? What if something happens before we can clear him?"

"Lieutenant Bates assures me that Deeks will not be placed in general population for that very reason. I want to protect him too, Kensi. Believe me, the LAPD will be much more likely to work with us if we don't antagonize them by making our liaison unreachable. In fact, Callen and Sam are going to meet with Bates now to see what LAPD has. I suspect you know a little something of the charges?"

"More questions than answers, I'm afraid," sighed Kensi as she began to fill Hetty in on the ride back to L.A.

Detective Martin Andrew Deeks was fingerprinted, photographed, and booked without incident. Deeks made no lighthearted jokes. The officers more or less shunned him, not trusting themselves to remain professional if they engaged in much more than standard directives. If you were a cop, you hated a cop killer. It didn't matter if you knew the cop or liked him. They had all been warned that Deeks was affiliated with some higher ups, so there could be no lines crossed in decorum.

He could read it in their faces, however. It took him back to his rookie days when Boyle had made things difficult for him around the precinct following their run-in. Cops relied on snitches for information, but they hated them in their own ranks. Marty had long ago stopped trying to convince himself that he was right and everyone else was wrong. What are the odds on that? There were so few places he fit in perfectly: undercover work and Kensi Blye's geometric curves. He may have seen the last of both.

Deeks was in a solitary holding cell off of the main booking area, awaiting arraignment. He felt her presence entering the room, the way he always knew when she tried to sneak in his bedroom and watch him sleep. Whenever Gordon got drunk, he was likely to harass, punch, and choke both his wife and his son. Marty would sometimes fall asleep in the closet or under the bed and try to block out the sounds. When Gordon had succumbed to the liquor and finally passed out, Roberta would steal into Marty's room, rub his back, and calm him. He would pretend to be asleep, but he was always awake. It was part of the routine—he waited for her. Then he would listen to her promise him that his dad would never do it again, that she must have done something to set him off, and she was sorry her son had to suffer for it.

The night she hadn't come in—that was the night Marty took the gun with him to check on his mother. The gun his father didn't know about, although he prided himself on being in charge of everything in his house. When he saw why his mother couldn't move, saw her cowering in the corner while Gordon pointed a shotgun at her, he had leveled the .38 Ray had given him and yelled, "Leave her alone!" Then his father charged the youngster, and Marty had shot him.

All of this flashed through his mind before he even turned around. "Mom, what are you doing here?"

"I saw it on the news, Marty." She paused and attempted a smile as she pursed her lips. Promise me you'll get a haircut. You look like a vagabond."

"Hey, I was just at Vagabond's Inn, so it fits. Besides, all the guys at work are envious, and I can't give up a great hair advantage."

Roberta Deeks smiled at her son. "You always tried to be cheerful, even when things were bad. I love that about you. But seeing you behind bars, looking like that, looking like him…" she stopped short, not expecting the bewildered look on his face.

Marty just stared at her; shocked that she saw any part of Gordon in him. He had always been happy that he bore what he thought was a negligible resemblance to his father. He was tall like him, but he thought that was where it ended. Oh, no.

She reached out for his arm, "Marty," she began, "I know you didn't kill anyone."

"Thanks, Mama," he said, still picturing Gordon at his age, and begrudgingly admitting to himself there were similarities. "You were sweet to come down here, but there's nothing you can do. It's not the best place to hang out either."

"Well, I wanted to come and help."

"It does help—it helps to know you believe in me."

"No, son, I mean really help. Help get you out of this. Help clear you of the charges. Provide information—that sort of help. I bet you don't remember anything from that night."

"No, I don't, but—what are you talking about? What kind of information could you have?" Marty was so confused. How did she know he remembered nothing? He had written out his statement, almost word for word that he had told Kensi, but his mom couldn't know about that, could she?

At that moment, Kensi came walking in to the holding area, flashing her badge. Roberta hugged her, sniffling a little. "Hey, listen to me," Kensi said, putting a hand on each of Roberta's shoulders. "We are working to exonerate him. No one in their right mind could believe Marty would do this."

Looking steadily at her, Deeks said quietly, "Kensi, my mom was there when I shot my dad, remember? He very well could have died. So, I guess that means I absolutely would commit murder if the circumstances warranted it. I am beginning to think maybe I did have a psychotic episode and just hit my head in the process."

"Deeks, no! You can't think like that. You can't talk like that—especially in here!"

"They must have found evidence, Kens. To arrest me—they have to think they can make it stick. I know that—I do this. They had to present evidence to get a warrant for my arrest." He ran his hand through his hair. "What did I do?" he asked, bewildered. "What if I killed them both?"

"Deeks, calm down. Tina is—you didn't kill Tina."

Deeks looked up. "What do you know?"

"Sam and Callen met up with Bates to find out what the new evidence is." She sighed, then looked around for Roberta, not sure of how much Marty wanted his mom to hear. "Hey, where did your mom go?"

Marty looked up. "I don't know. I didn't see her leave. Maybe this was just all too much for her." He sighed and rubbed his chin. "Tell me what you meant about Tina."

Kensi spoke as quietly as she could. "Callen and Sam met with Bates to find out what they have on you." She breathed deeply. "OK, a woman's body was found after a fatal drug overdose in a motel in San Francisco with no ID, so they ran a DNA sample and got a hit."

"Tina?" asked Deeks.

"Yeah," said Kensi. "She had been arrested 2 years ago for suspicion of drug trafficking, but was back out in a few months after turning state's evidence against a bigger fish. Codis also got a hit on evidence taken from Boyle's crime scene. For some reason, no connection was made when her first sample was entered, so that sample never had a name attached to it before. Now it's all linked."

"So it would seem that now Boyle's case could be closed. Wouldn't they have assumed Tina killed him? That was the rumor all along, although no one but me knew who was in the room with him. Where does that leave me?" asked Deeks.

"The discovery prompted forensics to take another look at the evidence and see if anything else was overlooked in the Boyle case. They found your DNA on the bed, Deeks."

"What? Oh, no! I thought that—it was only once, Kens, and it had been –long enough for the sheets to be changed. Did I do something I can't remember?"

"Deeks, it was saliva, not semen. But at any rate, they've got you in Tina's room. And…when they searched the motel room she was in, they found Boyle's cell phone hidden in her bag. Your number was the last one he dialed."

Marty drew in a long breath and held it, wondering why all of this had to come to light now—now that he had made headway at NCIS, now that he was in love, now that he had put so much of his painful past—including this episode—behind him. He was going to lose it all, and he still wasn't sure what he did.


	3. Chapter 3

"Deeks, the fact that you never told anyone about this makes it look like you had something to hide. Sam and Callen are doing what they can, and Eric and Nell are combing through records, but a lot of the evidence is circumstantial."

"Don't you think I know it looks bad?" he snapped, turning his back to her. When he turned around, she saw panic and hopelessness in his eyes, and she wished she had the answers that he needed—that _she_ needed so desperately. She started to console him, but a uniformed officer brought his lawyer over, robbing them of the meager privacy the holding cell provided. Deeks introduced his buddy Jay from law school to Kensi, and the stark difference in career paths was enormously obvious to them both. One had chosen the glitzy, large law firm, high profile, buy-your-wife a Ferrari lifestyle, while the other had chosen to try and rid the streets of the criminals the legal system kept regurgitating back onto them. Deeks worried that he couldn't provide Kensi with a Ferrari. She didn't want one. She was thankful to be with a man that cared more for the people in this world than the things he could purchase in it.

Kensi's phone buzzed just after the lawyer left, and she had to step into the outer lobby to take the call.

While she was gone, a uniformed officer came to Marty's cell and called him over to put his hands out and be cuffed. "They want you back in interrogation," the officer told him.

"Why?" asked Deeks. "I gave my state—hey, we're going the wrong way!" he protested as the officer opened a door to a staircase and pushed Deeks ahead of him.

The officer indicated a door at the bottom of the concrete stairs. "In there," he said. "They're redecorating the rooms upstairs," he said with a smirk. Once inside, he pointed to a metal chair in the middle of the room. There was no table, and no two-way mirror. Deeks felt a chill that was as much from concern as it was the temperature of the basement room. The door opened, and a detective in a suit walked in as the uniformed officer walked out.

"I'll take it from here. Thanks," he said as the officer left. "You don't have to wait outside. This punk won't give me any trouble." Deeks looked at the man. He was in his late forties, powerfully built, and undeniably angry. He pulled Deeks's arms up roughly by the handcuffs before unlocking them, the sneer on his face daring the man in custody to make a move. Deeks knew the man was trying to get a rise out of him so that he would get physical and have additional charges levied against him. He had even played that game before—people tend to confess as the anger wells up inside them like a balloon, bursting in a raging confession. Surprise-he turned instead to sarcasm.

"Punk? Really? You know, technically, with my liaison status, I outrank y-" Deeks didn't see it coming. The backhanded blow was so fast and vicious that it knocked him off of the chair. The stout detective jerked Marty up and threw him against the concrete block wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. As his head hit the wall he began to see stars. He bent over with his hands on his knees, trying to take a deep breath and avoid passing out. Before his vision cleared, the detective pulled him back to his full height by his throat.

"If you killed my partner, you are a dead man!" he seethed, putting so much pressure on Marty's throat that he thought his windpipe would collapse. He finally released Deeks, letting him drop to the cold floor gasping for breath. "You make me sick!" the man finished, kicking Deeks in the stomach. Deeks retched onto the floor, and curled into a ball.

The detective straightened his tie."Yeah, not so funny now, are you punk?"

Deeks slowly gained control of his breathing, and was able to get his knees under him. "Who are you?" he asked when he could raise up.

"I was Boyle's partner for 15 years," he said. "Finest cop I ever worked with. Me and him, we had each other's backs. Then one day, they tell him he has to pull rookie duty and partner with a newbie." He paused and shook his head. "He was disgusted by you."

"Why? Because I followed the law and LAPD procedures? Because I refused to use my badge as an excuse to be the same sort of thug I was trying to keep off the streets?" The detective pulled Deeks up by his shirt and dropped him back in the chair.

"He said you were soft on criminals. That's why LA is such a shit hole these days. He wore his badge proudly and the mongrels on the streets knew to stay out of his way. He was the most successful interrogator on the force back then, so don't you dare question his methods!"

"I can see you and Boyle use the same tactics."

"Damn straight! I read your sorry excuse for a statement. You don't remember, huh? Do you remember sleeping with that whore? Your DNA is there! Do you remember emptying a clip into Boyle?" He was leaning down, almost nose- to- nose with Marty, spittle flying from his mouth, the veins bulging in his neck. "Maybe a stint in the general population while you await trial will jog your memory."

So that was it. No papers were put in front of him to sign, and no good cop coming in to play off of the bad cop. Just an excuse to drop him down in the most hostile environment a cop or prosecutor could face. General population. A goldfish in a piranha-infested tank.

Meanwhile, Kensi finished her phone call and rounded the corner to Deeks's cell. "Hey, whoa!" She went back to the desk in a state of panic that she hoped didn't show. It did. "Where is Marty Deeks? I demand to see him NOW!"

The officer she faced down was the same one who had escorted Marty out of his cell while she was away. "Gee, Agent, I wish I could find the paperwork that tells where he was taken but it must be lost in all this mess. Tell you what…you go on back to your ivory tower, and I'll call you when I track him down," he said with a fake polite smile.

She leaned over the desk and grabbed at his shirt, but he caught her wrist. "You can leave of your own free will now, or I will have you thrown in a cell, Agent. You have no jurisdiction here."

"This is not over!" was all she trusted herself to say, knowing her emotions were clouding her judgment. She felt utterly helpless, hopeless, and frustrated. She really, really wanted to punch someone, but she didn't want to make things worse than they already were.

She ran to her car as she dialed Hetty, not even sure of where she should go. The older woman instructed her to go to Deeks's place and wait for further instruction. She only complied because she could think of nothing better. Meanwhile, Hetty was conferring with Callen. The news that Deeks had been taken out of his holding cell and the desk sergeant was uncooperative troubled Hetty greatly. She told Callen with grave insistence, "We need to get Deeks out of this mess!"

When Kensi got to Deeks's house, Hetty instructed her to use the untraceable laptop that Eric had configured for each member of the team so they could communicate freely. Eric had hacked the LAPD file on Deeks, which had recently been updated, and sent them to Kensi's computer.

"Keep in mind," the older woman instructed, "that they are trying to prove that he is the type of person who would commit the crime he is accused of. They want him to look callous and untrustworthy. We can use the same evidence to come to a different conclusion, but we have to know what they know. Perhaps we can make sure new evidence comes to light." Kensi looked at photo after photo of Deeks, all with other women.

The most recent photos were first—Marty and Kensi at the park, goofing off while exercising, stealing kisses in the shadows of the trees. Kensi had seen the IA officer taking those photos, but there were more she was unaware of. It really felt creepy to know they had been watched and their privacy had been obliterated.

Then there was a photo from Kensi's last op where she had to seduce a wealthy cocaine distributor. She was with the suspect at a ritzy club, dancing with her body pressed closely against his. Deeks was visible leaning across the bar, looking at the dancing couple with a dark scowl. A murderous scowl, even. Kensi closed her eyes, sighed, and lowered her head, knowing how this would look to an investigator—or a jury. If looks could kill…

There were also photos of Deeks, Talia, and herself together, then some of just Deeks and Talia while Kensi had been in Afghanistan. Talia was leaning on Deeks for support when she had been scraped by the poisonous fish, and she was clearly enjoying herself, with her hand on his bicep.

Then came pictures of Deeks and the gorgeous Eva, once again telling a tale of blurred lines. Kensi remembered how fierce the police chief from a small town in Mexico was, and how protective Deeks became of her in the short time she was in California. He insisted that he and Eva shared a "connection" and that certainly translated well in the glossy photos. Kensi and Deeks were years from becoming a couple, yet the jealousy still burned as she looked at the pictures.

The next pictures were of Deeks and Monica, whom he had seduced as Max. They were kissing in the getaway car. There were pictures from the house they rented, with Monica coming into the living room after a shower naked, in full view of the street. Naked and touching Deeks. Damn. Monica had questioned Kensi's wisdom in trusting a man who could seduce one woman while clearly masking his feelings for another. Callous.

The woman with short blond hair in the next set of pictures was at first unrecognizable to Kensi, but then she remembered Deeks mentioning a hair weave when Ray's ex-wife Nicole had been brought in for questioning. Certainly this doe-eyed, full-lipped beauty was in love with Marty's undercover persona. She was gazing at him adoringly in every grainy photo. This looked bad.

Jess Trainor was the next beauty photographed with a younger Marty. Kensi had been able to tell Trainor was smitten with Deeks, even though she barely knew either of them. The photos of him leaning against her as she was backed up to the wall of her apartment building proved Kensi was right. The next photos were of Detective Scarli, who had definitely suffered a beating before his mug shot was taken. When the burly older officer had asked Deeks about how good his dead partner had been in bed, Deeks had gone off on him. Damning.

Finally, there was a set of pictures of a clean-shaven, very young looking Marty Deeks with a bleached blond, small, voluptuous young woman. Marty talking to her in a bar, head thrown back as he laughed with a beer in his hand. Marty entering a cheap-looking motel with a blond visible through the open door. Shit.

Kensi could explain away every photo, but she knew how that would appear to a judge or a jury. She knew how it would sound to Mandy, Mindy, and Tiffany, if these pictures ever became public. She knew how it looked to her.

What could a good lawyer do in the face of these pictures, spanning a decade or so? Could these pictures show a man who loved deeply, and did his undercover work well? He had crossed some lines, and so had Kensi, but she certainly knew he was no murderer. Just what had happened that he couldn't remember? The answers were closer than she could have imagined, but so was trouble.

Callen had consulted with the Deeks's attorney, asking hypothetically how one would combat such a series of pictures that were casting a negative shadow on Marty's character. Jay was checking with as many people Marty had arrested as he could find, including some from the time he and Boyle worked together. If there were hints of impropriety, he wanted to know about them first.

Sam had appealed to Bates, asking him to find out where Marty had been taken. Bates had stormed in to the holding area, daring anyone to give him the runaround they had given Agent Blye. He located Marty when the alarm went off alerting all officers that a fight was taking place. A fight that would, unless Bates missed his guess, be very one-sided. He guessed correctly, and the growing pool of blood under Deeks as he lay on the floor meant one thing—someone had smuggled in a knife.

In another part of the jail, putting down the third pen she had asked for since the first two had run out of ink, she sighed deeply. Now that it was all on paper, she started to shake, wondering at her own timing. Would anyone believe her? Roberta knew how it would seem. She wanted to slip off without Marty's knowledge to tell the story she had promised never to tell unless there was no other way. Today as she listened to her son imagine what he might have done, she felt the time had come.

Without staying for Kensi's complete rundown of the situation, she had figured Tina was dead. Most of the girls that came to her at the shelter for abused women stayed in the same situation that brought them there, or got into a similar one. Those who made it out of their personal hell made the volunteer work she had done for decades worthwhile, but she had come to accept that the majority of the women stayed in the life they knew and somehow accepted. She did, too, after all. Marty had saved them both, and now she was saving him.


	4. Chapter 4

In another part of the jail, putting down the third pen she had asked for since the first two had run out of ink, she sighed deeply and rubbed her weary right hand. Now that it was all on paper, she started to shake, wondering at her own timing. Would anyone believe her now? Roberta knew how it would seem. She wanted to slip off without Marty's knowledge to tell the story she had promised never to tell unless there was no other way. Today as she listened to her son imagine what he might have done, she felt the time had come.

Without staying for Kensi's complete rundown of the situation, she had figured Tina was dead. Most of the girls that came to her at the shelter for abused women stayed in the same situation that brought them there, or got into a similar one. Those who made it out of their personal hell made the volunteer work she had done for decades worthwhile, but she had come to accept that the majority of the women stayed in the life they knew and somehow accepted. She did, too, after all. Marty had saved them both, and now she was saving him.

Tina was a prostitute who sometimes asked for shelter, but always went back. She was pretty and smart, and Roberta could see her with a nice, clean-cut guy. She was surprised to find that Tina could quote scripture very well. She had probably run away from a strict home, thinking she would show the folks back home.

Roberta knew a police detective was a regular client of Tina's, and had been rough with her. The young woman had come in for minor medical attention a time or two, and had confided in Roberta as the older woman doled out what little help the scripted counseling narrative offered.

The two became closer than the volunteer counselors were supposed to be with the clients, but Roberta saw something of herself in Tina. She had been to the hotel where Tina and the others in her group worked when Tina didn't feel like coming to the shelter. One time in particular she walked in the room and saw something that made her breath catch in her throat.

There was a man's jacket thrown over the desk chair. The leather bomber jacket with its rounded collar and knitted cuffs had set her back quite a bit, even though she bought it second-hand. In fact, that's what made it so recognizable—it had been repaired on the right sleeve. Roberta herself had done the repair, right before she wrapped it and put Marty's name on it. He acted like she had given him a new car. At the time, Roberta was afraid the jacket meant that Marty had been Tina's tormenting detective, and the thought was enough to make her feel light-headed. Tina had run to get her a glass of water.

Had her inability to leave Gordon all those years caused her son to follow in his father's footsteps? As she learned more about the cycle of abuse through the years working at the shelter, she had cursed herself over and over for exposing him to it. She had imagined until now that he had been able to break free of the stereotypical victim-turned-abuser. Now she wasn't so sure. She never mentioned Marty to Tina or Tina to Marty. She thought she remembered Tina saying the officer was an older man, but maybe that was wishful thinking.

One night she received a short text from Tina—"He's here. Pray for me." It set Roberta on edge, and she felt she had to go and protect Tina, son or not. Maybe this would be the turning point for Marty to see he needed help. She pulled into the motel parking lot and drove to the row of rooms in the back. Her blood froze as she realized his car was there. She almost lost her nerve. It would be easier not to know.

She neared Tina's room and heard gunshots. What now? Either Marty had shot Tina, or Tina had shot him. Roberta put her hand on her own gun in the secret compartment in her handbag, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

It took her several seconds to take it all in. Directly across from her at the entrance to the bathroom, half naked and shaking, stood Tina with a gun in her hand. She had mascara tracks down her face, and a look of terror in her eyes. Roberta would have crossed the room to ease her on to the bed, but something—someone—was between them. With his hands and feet cuffed around the swivel desk chair that had been turned around backwards drooped an unconscious blond man. His head was hanging above the foot of the bed where there was a small spot of drool. Marty. Her Marty.

"Is he…did you…Tina, did you shoot him?" quavered Roberta, her own hand shaking as she covered her mouth with it. Tears were running down her cheeks. She couldn't move. She should have been feeling for his pulse, but she was too afraid.

Tina kept shaking her head, and she was looking at her feet. "I shot _him_ ," she said, pointing right in front of her. Roberta moved behind Marty and was finally able to see an older man between the bed and the bathroom. He had 3 bullet holes in his back.

Roberta was weak with relief, and doubly so as she felt a strong pulse in Marty's neck. Tina sagged toward the bed, the gun slipping to the floor. Knowing that even though someone may have heard the gunshots they were unlikely to call the police, Roberta took action. She wiped the gun and the hotel room clean, thinking of every surface that may have been touched. She saw the detective's keys on the bedside table, and found the one that unlocked the cuffs. When the young woman had composed herself and got dressed, Roberta enlisted her help with Marty. Together they managed to get him in the backseat of his car. As she adjusted his head so the car door wouldn't close on it, she felt the large lump behind his ear where Boyle had hit him with his gun.

Roberta drove Marty's car while Tina followed in Roberta's. They drove to a Walmart parking lot, and left Marty in the backseat with his keys in his pocket. Roberta drove Tina to the nearest bus station and bought her a one-way ticket to San Francisco. Tina said she had friends there that she could stay with. As the women parted company, Roberta gave Tina the purse she was carrying with the gun hidden in the secret compartment. The two promised each other never to tell anyone of the incident—not even Marty. Roberta knew his sense of propriety would compel him to report it, and she did not want him to be in that position.

In the weeks following the incident, Roberta felt like Marty was incredibly tense whenever she saw him, but then again, so was she. He had lost weight and had dark circles under his eyes. She convinced herself it was just the stress of his job. He never mentioned the murder to her, although she saw a report of it on the news. Eventually, she stopped flinching every time she heard a siren.

In her statement, Roberta had identified the bag with a false bottom that the police had found Boyle's cell phone in. She had not realized Tina had taken the phone. When Tina was found, she had been wearing a bomber jacket with a hole in the sleeve, with a thread from an old repair job fluttering. Roberta had offered it to Tina that night, knowing how cold it could be in San Francisco.

She felt cold now as she handed the four pages to the officer, who left her there with a guard at the door. He asked, for the second time, "Are you waiving your right to legal counsel?" Knowing that a lawyer would be telling her not to hand over proof that she was an accessory after the fact, she once again nodded. There was time for that after Marty was released.

The officer was making his way to find the detective on the Boyle case when he remembered that the alarm had sounded in the adjacent jail a few minutes ago, calling all available officers to help. That's why it was like a ghost town in here. Thankfully, that didn't happen often, because when it did it usually involved a body bag.

That's what Bates was thinking as he waited for the room to be secured so the paramedics could check on Deeks. He hadn't moved at all.

When they were able to reach him, they turned him over carefully. The bruises and lacerations on his face let Bates know the beating had gone on for a while before the alarm had been sounded. As the paramedics unzipped the jumpsuit to get to the stab wounds, the blood made it all but impossible to confirm Bates' suspicion that he had also taken many blows to the body. Bates could see two stab wounds to the abdomen.

He dreaded calling Sam, but it would be worse if he stalled. Sam had actually been on his way to find out if Bates was able to locate Deeks, and was arguing with the officers at the entrance to the jail area when the paramedics were rushing by with the injured inmate that must have resulted from the fight causing the lockdown. Sam knew who it was in his gut before he confirmed it with his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

**_AN: It is so laughable that I tried to second-guess the writers of the show! Lesson learned!_**

Sam called Hetty and Callen, and then drove to the house Kensi and Deeks had been sharing when they weren't taking a "night off" to tell her in person. As soon as she saw Sam's grim expression, Kensi knew he was not bringing good news. Sam had only seen her cry once before, and like the first time, he marveled that she could do it silently.

The nurse at the ER desk was more than a little intimidated by the growing group of angry, anxious people gathering there. She would have called the officer who typically stood sentry, but he was actually part of the crowd waiting for news of the prisoner who was brought in. She was happy when a doctor came out to address them, directing them to a waiting room on another floor.

During the long wait, many things happened. Bates, who had been summoned back to the station, returned with some news: the murder charge was being reviewed and could possibly be dropped due to a statement by a new witness that gave Deeks an alibi. Even before he told them the name of the person who had come forward, Kensi knew it must have been Roberta—that was why she hadn't stayed around when Kensi was at Deeks' cell. Bates did not give them the entire story, but no matter. Eric could hack into the file when Bates left. There was a possibility Deeks would face charges on obstruction of justice, but that would be decided on later.

Bates himself was going to launch investigations into Sykes, the desk sergeant at the holding cell, and the guards on duty at the jail that day, and each had been taken into custody.

Jay, who already knew about the reduction of charges against Deeks, came by with copies of some files from his research. It seems that over and over two things surfaced as he looked into records and talked to those Marty and Boyle had arrested. Boyle was accused of being overly hostile again and again, while Marty was hailed as fair and compassionate. Not just during arrests, either. There were accounts of Deeks making sure the children of a suspect had Christmas presents, or that an inmate's family had groceries, always from his own pocket.

None of this surprised the team, but Kensi only half listened to all of the accounts, hoping she was making appropriate eye contact and nodding at the right time, so she could give the impression that she was engaged in the conversation. Hetty watched her closely, knowing Kensi wasn't really focusing on the talk in the room as she kept her gaze focused on the doors to the waiting area.

Hetty was also keenly aware that Kensi might not forgive her for allowing Marty to be arrested. The operations manager was in the precarious position of having resources at her disposal, which could make it seem she was above the law, while actually charged with enforcing it. There was nothing Hetty would not do for the members of her team when she believed in them—and she believed in each of them fiercely, albeit not irrationally. Her soft spot for Deeks meant that she would go above and beyond, using every resource in her impressive arsenal to keep him safe. It was possible Kensi would never know all that Hetty had done to protect Deeks.

When the waiting room doors finally did open, Kensi stood up and crossed the room in two strides. Callen and Sam were right behind her, there to support her physically and emotionally. "He's alive but critical," the doctor reported, not mincing words. "In addition to the stab wounds, he was badly beaten. There was extensive trauma to his torso and head. We will watch him closely, and we should know more in the next 24 hours. A couple of you can go back, but you can't stay long."

Kensi, trance-like, moved forward without speaking, leaving Callen and Sam to decide which of them should go with her. They decided on Sam, who was surprised he had such a hard time catching up to her. She wanted to see the numbers on the monitors, hear the beeps, and watch his chest rise and fall. Proof of life. She didn't even breathe as she hurried down the hall to his open door. Her hand flew to her mouth. Sam uttered an expletive, but she couldn't even hear him. When her lungs insisted on air at last, she drew breaths in rapid succession, trying to vent her emotions in that way rather than by screaming the way she wanted to.

Sam put a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off as she reached for Marty's hand. She held it up to her cheek, and then gently laid it back down beside him. Sam had gone to the other side of the bed, and was taken by surprise when she quickly rose and exited the room. She was going for Hetty.

Much of the crowd waiting for news had dispersed, knowing they could not all go back and see Marty since Kensi would definitely push the visitation time to the limit. Kensi knew Hetty would still be there, however, sitting at the table with Callen and Granger. Hetty knew that seeing Deeks would add fuel to Kensi's flaming temper, and decided it was best to stay and face her rather than put it off.

"Are you happy now, Hetty?" Kensi spat out as she swooped on Hetty. "You could have prevented this, but you did nothing! You've had us chasing pointless hunches and wasting time. It didn't work, Hetty! It was not enough—and it put him in danger!" The veins in her neck were bulging and her words were filled with a disgusted anger that none of the team had ever heard before.

"Hey, now," began Callen. "Kensi.."

"You haven't seen him, Callen! He was beaten to a pulp, and then stabbed! None of this had to happen! Nothing she told us to do made any difference!" Kensi punctuated the sentence by jabbing her finger towards Hetty. "She could have kept him from being put in jail in the first place, but she wouldn't help him. We all knew what could happen in there with gang members and drug dealers that he helped put away, but maybe that was all part of some master plan!"

"You cannot for one moment think I would purposely let anything happen to him, Agent Blye! I am very fond of Mr. Deeks, and I have been on his side since the whole Internal Affairs investigation began."

"A hell of a lot of good that did him, Hetty. Look where he ended up!" Turning on her heel, Kensi headed back through the doors.

Callen started after her, but Hetty called out, "Leave her be, Mr. Callen, she needs some time to cool off. I don't want her to direct any of her anger to you."

Storming back into the room, Kensi looked once again at the almost unrecognizable man in the hospital bed, and she was buried under an avalanche of emotions. Frustration, anger, fear, resentment and futility threatened to rob her of her breath and the ability to stand. Sam eased her into the chair and knelt beside her, enveloping her in his arms.

When she was more or less sitting calmly in the chair, Sam stole out of the room to see who was still around. Callen looked up and raised his eyebrows in a questioning arc, and Sam shrugged slightly and shook his head to let him know things hadn't changed.

"Fill me in," Sam sighed as he sat at the table.

Callen pulled up the statement Roberta had given the police from the file Eric hacked, watching Sam as he read it. "Is it me, or is this a little too convenient?" asked Sam.

"Agent Hannah, if there are any holes in Mrs. Deeks' statement, then I encourage you and Agent Callen to find them. We don't want to be blind-sided," stated Hetty. "I imagine that's why the murder charge was not immediately dropped—the validity of her statement is being verified. Mr. Beale and Miss Jones have been able to confirm her involvement as a volunteer at the shelter for abused women, and one other longtime volunteer remembers Tina."

Granger added, "The other evidence—the purse, the phone, and the jacket—was vetted by the police and are being held in their evidence locker. There was no way for Mrs. Deeks to know about them unless she had been there."

"Her being there doesn't mean that Deeks didn't kill Boyle," clarified Callen.

"That evidence, along with the reports of misconduct that for some reason were not enough to get Boyles fired, seem to satisfy the LAPD," reasoned Granger.

"What about Sykes? Where does he fit in?" asked Sam.

"It seems after 15 years of complaints against Boyle and Sykes, Boyle was assigned to our Mr. Deeks as a mentor, and Sykes was transferred to another precinct. He and Deeks never crossed paths until yesterday," Hetty answered. Her voice trailed off as she said, almost to herself, "If only Mrs. Deeks had come forward a few hours earlier." She looked up with a pained expression. "I wonder if she knows about his…circumstances?"

"My guess is that the whole jail knows by now," said Callen. "Do you want Sam and me to go by there? We could tell her," he offered reluctantly.

"No need, no need. I am sure Agent Blye is not anxious to run into me again tonight. I will go by the jail if you promise to let me know if there are any changes in his condition," Hetty answered as she rose stiffly to leave. She put one hand on each of her agents' shoulders. "Take care of one another, and offer Kensi the support she feels I have withheld." She started slowly for the elevator with the two agents looking concerned for her.

Granger rose to follow. "I'll walk her out," he said to them. "Then I'll go by and see what the Wonder Twins have been able to uncover. Maybe you two should take turns. I know Blye won't leave."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Roberta wondered whose cell the guard was headed for when she turned on her heel and jingled keys at the sliding bars to her own six-by-eight foot cubicle. "Roberta Deeks, you are being released on bond," said the officer in a monotone voice.

Looking confused, Roberta stammered, "Are…are you sure? Bond?"

"Oh, I'm sure," the officer stated. "They pay me to be sure."

"Well, they don't pay you what you're worth, I know that much," said the older lady in a motherly tone. "This has got to be a dangerous job. I bet your family worries about you," she said, tsk-tsking as only a mother can.

The officer grinned and led Roberta down the hall to where she was buzzed through a barred door. On the other side of the door was Hetty, offering her hand. "I'm Henrietta Lange, Mrs. Deeks."

Roberta Deeks was only flustered for a second, then realized that they were not supposed to have met before, and played her part well. "Oh, you're Marty's boss! Listen, do know who posted my bond? Is Martin still here?"

"I'm going to take you to see him, Mrs. Deeks. Hetty leaned closer and said, "Let's go in my car so we can talk." Roberta nodded her head knowingly. Once in her vehicle, Hetty turned to face her passenger. "Roberta, dear, I'm afraid I have some troubling news about Marty," Hetty began.

"Are they not going to drop the charges? Did I get something wrong in the statement? I practiced it so many times that I knew it by heart."

"I read your statement, Mrs. Deeks. It was perfect. No, I'm afraid there was a fight in the jail and Marty was hurt." Roberta's eyes widened and her hand flew to her heart. Hetty continued, "He was badly beaten, and…" she hesitated. Roberta reached over and placed her hand on top of Hetty's in a comforting gesture, making Hetty's voice catch in her throat even more. "Stabbed," she finally managed to say. "He was stabbed also. I know I promised you I would protect him, but I have not succeeded. I am so very sorry."

Stunned into silence, Roberta forced out a trembling voice, "Are you taking me to the hospital or the morgue?"

"To the hospital," answered Hetty. Roberta breathed a sigh of relief. "Kensi, Sam, and Callen are there with him."

The ride to the hospital was silent. Roberta seemed to have retreated to a world of her own. She was reliving images of Marty as a child—images she saw through her own swollen eyes, because Gordon always started with her.

"I let him down back then and let a terrible thing happen to him. And now…it's happening again!" Roberta covered her face with her hands.

"Roberta, I'm afraid this one's on me," Hetty said in a deflated tone. "My team may never be the same because Kensi will not forgive me, I fear." The two neared the bank of elevators leading to Marty's room, but Hetty told Roberta to go on without her.

"We have to tell Kensi what you did, Hetty. That you kept this secret Marty couldn't even remember himself, and when the time came, you came up with a solution. I am so grateful to you for looking after my boy," said Roberta sincerely.

"Kensi cannot know about this—not now—not ever. Neither can anyone else, Roberta. The three of us would go to prison: you, me, and Marty. She'll just have to hate me, that's all. I'll ride out this storm like I have so many others. It's not the only secret I've kept from my team." Her voice softened as she urged, "Go on up and see him. We'll talk soon."

Driving away, Hetty thought back to the time Nate came to her after he had put Deeks under hypnosis following the Sidorov incident. Deeks had relived the incident when he walked in to find Boyle standing over a savagely beaten prostitute who was slumped in the corner. All Deeks could see was his father standing over his mother. He and Boyle struggled, and the older man managed to hit Deeks on the head with the butt of his pistol.

He disarmed Deeks and was cuffing his wrists and ankles around the chair, ranting on about how Deeks was going to watch him kill Tina, and he couldn't stop him. Deeks straightened up, hitting Boyle under the chin with his own head, knocking him onto the bed. Deeks grabbed Boyle's gun and shot him as the detective lunged for him.

The added trauma to his head, plus the psychological trauma of reliving the night he shot his father combined to put Deeks in a near-catatonic state. Not even hypnosis allowed Deeks to remember the rest of the story. Tina called Roberta, who came in to find Marty slumped over that chair, the gun having slipped out of his cuffed right hand. His eyes were closed, but he was mumbling incoherently.

From there on, the story was as Roberta revealed in her statement. She wiped the room down, got Tina to help her drag Deeks out to his own car, and the two women drove to a parking lot where they left him. Roberta drove Tina to the bus station, and the two promised never to speak of it.

When Nate relayed the information to Hetty, the soft spot she had for her liaison grew even softer upon seeing the lengths he would go to in order to protect a weak person from a brute. Hetty knew she wanted to keep someone who was that protective on her team, whether he was aware of his own actions or not. Hetty herself had crossed many lines as an agent, but she could always say that she felt she was on the right side. So was Marty Deeks.

Ironically, Hetty sought Nate's help in keeping Deeks from retrieving this memory. Usually, psychologists worked toward the opposite goal. Hetty knew that Marty would sag under the weight of his actions. He would want to divulge his secret to Kensi and Kensi wouldn't understand and the team would be fractured.

But, could she—should she, make those decisions for other people? Hetty felt that her line crossing was going to cost her dearly one day.


	6. Chapter 6

Nobody made them leave. The two ran out of reassurances for one another, and fell into a nerve-wracking silence. Kensi wanted to grill Mrs. Deeks on her statement. Why had she waited so long to speak up? Eric had forwarded the statement to her, and she read it while sitting just feet away from Marty's mother as the older woman pretended to be oblivious.

Kensi didn't feel as though she knew Roberta well enough to demand answers like she wanted to. She was used to being the only person Marty relied on. She was the person who knew him best. Whenever anyone else—Ray, Nicole, Kip, or Roberta—resurfaced from his past, Kensi felt a little jealous. She didn't like thinking that they had a unique relationship with Marty that excluded her. Maybe it was because her life, and certainly her emotions, had been on hold until she was partnered with him. She liked to think she was also the center of his universe, a universe only big enough for the two of them. She didn't share well.

Still, something about the statement was off. It was bugging Kensi, but she couldn't pinpoint the detail that was giving her trouble. She finally got up her nerve and said, "Mrs. Deeks, can you tell me about your statement? The night you walked into the hotel room?"

"Kensi, there is nothing I can add to what you've been sitting there reading," she answered wryly.

"He's going to wake up thinking he's still under arrest," Kensi said thoughtfully. "I wonder how he's going to react to the news. He really had no idea you were there?"

"We never spoke of it. We often went for weeks without seeing each other, so it wasn't hard. It gave me a chance to get past some of the shock, and it was probably the same for him. I remember the next time I did see him he looked skinny and haggard. I felt so sorry for him, but it seemed like such a big mess…I thought it was better to leave it be."

"What a coincidence that you both knew Tina," Kensi remarked, trying to keep the suspicion out of her voice. Roberta was no dummy.

"He was a cop and I worked with prostitutes. I would be surprised if we didn't know more of the same women," she answered, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice.

Kensi averted her gaze from Roberta's face to Marty's, still feeling unsatisfied. Something continued to nag at her. She decided to drop the subject before she alienated the other (second?) most important female in Marty's life, and settled for small talk. She asked Roberta to tell her what Marty was like as a child.

He heard them. He felt that they were at the end of a long hallway, just out of sight, talking in muffled tones. He tried to drag himself closer, not wanting to miss what they were saying. Why wouldn't his hands and feet move? He looked down and saw cuffs on his wrists and ankles, and felt a sickening headache. What was that smell?

Gunpowder. Maybe the gun going off caused his ears to ring and that's why he couldn't hear them properly. But who was the shooter? He anxiously clenched his hands, and could feel the handgrip before it registered completely. He was.

Who did he shoot? He tried to get closer to the room at the end of the hall that the voices were coming from. They were mixed with other voices—his father's menacing tone, his mom pleading with his dad not to hurt their son, Boyle threatening and mocking him, Kensi imploring him to tell her the truth. He finally got to the doorway and pulled himself up. Peering inside, he saw the whole scene laid out before him. His face mirrored in Boyle's eyes as he fell back on the bed. Dead.

Marty jerked awake with a shout, startling both women.

"Deeks! Hi Baby," crooned Kensi. She assumed his bewildered look was normal for someone who just woke up in the hospital. She brought his hand to her cheek and nuzzled it, feeling a flood of relief.

Roberta was crying silently, uttering prayers of thanks that her son was awake. She pressed the nurse's call button while she watched the woman who adored her son ease him back into consciousness. He seemed a little calmer now, never taking his eyes off Kensi's face. Although he didn't speak, he did squeeze his mother's hand.

The nurse and the doctor came in, seeming very pleased that he was awake. They forced the two doting women to stand back while they examined him. Each time Marty groaned or drew in his breath sharply, Kensi would lunge forward, and Roberta would pull her back. "I know it's hard, Kensi, but they're helping him," she soothed. Roberta was touched that Kensi was so protective of Marty.

Roberta had liked Kensi instantly upon meeting her, impressed by her brash honesty and the easy rapport she had with Marty. She could tell their personalities complemented each other seamlessly. She told Marty right away that she thought Kensi was fabulous, remarking how happy she was that Marty had found a woman who was not at all mousy like she was.

"Mousy, Mom? You?" he questioned incredulously. "Listen, my mother faced down a giant for me time after time. My mother took a smart-ass kid who was bound for trouble, and loved him all the way to law school. This," he gestured from himself to her and back again, "this is what makes me who I am." Always sensitive, his eyes were bright with unshed tears as he asserted, "My mother is no mouse. A lion, maybe!" he said with a grin. "Could be a cougar, but I don't want to know about it!"

"Don't get smart," she chided him, wiping at her own eyes. She sometimes could not believe how well son had turned out. Kensi seemed to appreciate him and love him fiercely. What mother wouldn't want that for her son? Looking at Kensi now, practically synchronizing her breathing with his, Roberta knew they were meant for each other.

That's what Hetty had told her back when she had visited Roberta secretly to find out what she knew about the incident with Boyle, and the two weren't even a couple yet. Roberta had been afraid Hetty's visit meant that Marty might go to prison, but Hetty had assured her that she already knew Marty killed the vile man. Hetty Lange wanted to protect her son. First her, then Hetty, now Kensi. Marty had that effect on people. Since he'd revealed what he knew of that night under hypnosis, Roberta had wondered if it would be healthier to get it out in the open and deal with it.

Hetty seemed to think it would be better to keep the truth from him if it could be suppressed, because she had not worked out how to deal with all the circumstances that the truth may set in motion. Roberta learned quickly that Hetty liked to have a plan for dealing with each possible scenario, and preferred to keep as many people in the dark as she could until the plans were hashed out. _Gee, where was this one when I needed to get away from Gordon?_ At any rate, who was she to argue with Marty's well-educated boss?

Roberta had to pull herself out of her reverie as the doctor updated them on Marty's condition. "His oxygen level is low, probably because it's painful to breathe deeply. If he doesn't breathe deeply, he could develop pneumonia, though, so we're going to increase his pain meds and put him on oxygen. He'll probably sleep for 12-18 hours again, so this might be a good time for you ladies to go get some sleep yourselves."

Kensi heard the doctor but couldn't take her eyes off of Marty—the stitches above his left eye and on his right cheek stood out starkly on his pale face. He kept his eyes locked on hers even while he was struggling to keep them open, and she thought that he looked like he wanted to tell her something, although the only sounds he had uttered had been exclamations of pain.

"Is that why he can't talk? It's painful to breathe?" she asked.

"Partly that," agreed the doctor, "also the bruising around his throat indicates he was choked, so there may be some swelling in his trachea and larynx. He's also fighting through the meds. It's not unusual for someone in his shape not to talk."

His shape? Kensi went back over to him, leaving Roberta to talk to the doctor. The nurse had placed the oxygen mask over his face, careful to avoid his stitches. Kensi took his hand once again, and leaned in close enough that she could whisper. "Hey, handsome. You look like you want to tell me something, huh?" The almost imperceptible change in his expression affirmed it. "Is it that you love me more than cronuts?" His eyes crinkled slightly, then fluttered.

He needed her to know that he remembered now, that he knew he killed Boyle. He was so afraid it would be the last thing he ever communicated to her, not because he thought he was going to die, but because he thought she couldn't live with a murderer. He didn't want her to discover it for herself, or from Callen or Sam. They would all think he was a liar and a criminal. He wanted her to know. He just couldn't figure out how to convey all that by blinking. He tried once more, but this time his eyes wouldn't reopen, and his hand went limp in hers.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Knowing that she wanted to be there when Marty woke up, Kensi left Roberta at the hospital under the pretense that she would go home and rest for a while. What she did was go into investigative mode.

Something was off.

She went home and printed three documents so she could look at them side by side: Deeks' statement, Roberta's statement, and the police report. She went through them line by line, highlighting areas that were the same in one color, and differences in another. She went through a milkshake and 2 cups of coffee before she found it.

The body. Boyle's body. Roberta said he was between the wall and the bed, so that she didn't see him when she walked in, and she had been afraid at first that Tina had shot Marty. The police report said Boyle's body was on the bed. No mention of blood stains on the carpet beside the bed, and the blood spatter in the crime scene photos indicated Boyle was actually shot on the bed—maybe as he had been moving forward. Moving forward towards Marty, whose arms were cuffed around the chair, but were long enough to reach in front of him and grab the gun from a man whose judgment was impaired by drugs. Deeks had shot Boyle.

Now that she knew, she didn't want to know. She wished she didn't know. She was afraid someone else could also figure this out. She ran her trembling hands through her hair. He had killed someone. He had killed a police officer. What?

Didn't they kill people all the time? All of them—Sam, Callen, Deeks, and herself? People with families who probably didn't think their loved one deserved to die. Wasn't Boyle every bit as bad as many of the criminals she had been told to take out with her sniper skills?

She had always pictured Marty as a phoenix, rising from the ashes of his bad childhood, becoming a defender of good. He was a wiseass with those he didn't respect, but a champion for the underdog. Didn't his actions in that motel room years ago fall right in line with that image? Wasn't killing this brutal man, who abused his authority and victimized those he should have been helping, true to Marty's character? Kensi knew that if there had been a way to help Boyle as well, that Marty would have done it.

She looked again at the crime scene photos, and spotted the flimsy chair, moved to its proper place at the desk. She could picture it at the end of the bed with Deeks slumped over it. She imagined Boyle, who was a strapping, muscular man, beating a young woman. No wonder Deeks had snapped. Now she just wondered if he lied to her, or if he really couldn't remember. She decided she didn't care.

So, this meant Roberta's statement was false. Kensi knew that Deeks would never let his mother make such a statement, so he obviously didn't know she had any connection to the event. Her story was good, except for the one detail about the placement of the body. Was Roberta capable of coming up with such a cover story? How was she even able to make her story so close to Marty's? She wouldn't have been privy to his statement.

Hetty.

Kensi fired off a text. _Grand Park in 40 minutes. Under the red flags. I know._ Kensi was sure Hetty would notice "red flag" as a code for an incriminating piece of evidence.

Hetty noticed, of course, and showed up with a picnic basket in tow, linking her arm around Kensi's and walking from the flag display to the picnic grounds. Selecting a spot away from the bushes that may provide cover for someone with a listening device, Hetty spread out a blanket and got out sandwiches and bottles of lemonade.

Remembering their last exchange, Kensi was unsure of Hetty's feelings toward her right now. Frankly, she wasn't sure of her feelings for Hetty either. She cleared her throat and began. "Hetty, I know that Deeks killed Boyle. I found that in Mrs. Deeks' statement, she said Tina killed Boyle between the bed and the wall. In the crime scene photos, however, the body is on the bed. Clearly, he was shot on the bed. If any part of what she said is true, then Deeks was cuffed to the chair at the foot of the bed, facing it. He had to have killed him."

Hetty pursed her lips, "I see. You look hungry, my dear. Have a sandwich." She got out her phone and typed out a text. Hitting send, she turned back to Kensi and said kindly, "You also look exhausted. I am thinking you have just about four more hours before Mr. Deeks wakes up. Please get some sleep."

"What about the discrepancy?" asked Kensi, starting to feel the befuddlement that comes from lack of sleep.

"What discrepancy?" asked Hetty with a wink. Kensi shook her head. Trying to stay mad at Hetty was impossible.

"How do you do it? How do you keep all of the stories straight, Hetty? How do you decide such important things for other people?"

"Agent Blye, I was a good operative. As good as I was, I am an even better operations manager. I surround myself with agents who are much better than I was. That means I believe in each one of you. Perfect people who have nothing to hide would not be good at what we do. I am like—a vault—where secrets can be kept. When someone breaks into the vault, then I have to minimize the damage. Some agents don't even know what's in there, but it makes no difference. I will do whatever it takes to protect everything and everyone I trust. Our Mr. Deeks is somewhat of a knight in shining armor, wouldn't you say? Robin Hood perhaps?"

Kensi pictured Deeks in green tights and had to laugh. "Hetty, at the hospital, I accused you of not trying hard enough to protect him. I am sorry."

"Agent Blye, I expected nothing less. Please know that I don't enjoy the role of puppetmaster. It's not that I don't trust you all. I just have all of the puzzle pieces, whereas you may have only the sky or the ocean. Trying to fit them all together is hard, but I'm good at puzzles."

"Wow! That's a lot of metaphors!" Kensi smiled. "Hetty, does he know?" she asked.

"Not unless things have changed recently," Hetty said with a slight shake of her head.

"I need to tell him, right? I mean, it's the right thing to do, isn't it? How could I keep something like this from him?"

Hetty thought for a moment and said, "I find it much easier to keep a secret when you have no one to share it with." Was that how she justified being alone—that she had too many secrets? Maybe Hetty meant that when you did have someone, you shouldn't keep secrets from them. Her expression gave nothing away, as usual. She was good at the secrets game. Kensi vowed never to be as good at it as Hetty was.


	7. Chapter 7

Feeling about as refreshed as a person could after a few hours sleep in a couple days, Kensi was relieved that at least she looked better. A little extra concealer under her eyes worked wonders. When she got to the hospital, she paused at the door to listen to an animated, albeit one-sided conversation. That wasn't Roberta's voice; it sounded like Nell. Opening the door, she found the intelligence analyst chattering away by Marty's bedside.

"Hi, Nell. Where's Mrs. Deeks?" Kensi asked this with only the briefest glance in Nell's direction. Her real focus was the man lying silent and still in the bed. His color seemed better than it had when she left, but he didn't appear to have moved at all. She went straight over to him, picked up his hand in one of hers, and caressed his face with the other.

"Hetty came and insisted she leave a couple hours ago. I think she wanted to make sure you had some time alone with Deeks when he wakes up. I volunteered to fill in until you arrived. She noticed Kensi's eyebrows lifting in a questioning gesture. "The nurse said his oxygen level is improving, and other than that," she shrugged. "He's holding his own."

"Any more predictions as to when he may wake up?" Kensi asked hopefully.

"No, but they did say to talk to him. That wasn't a problem for me," she said impishly, pointing to three empty coffee cups.

Kensi smiled. "Thank you, Nell. I really appreciate it! You know he loves you dearly. You and Eric are like family to him."

Nell's eyes brightened. "It's mutual," she declared. "Hey, Kensi," Nell began and then paused, gathering her thoughts. "I want you to know that I always look out for my family." Kensi at last turned her full gaze from Marty to Nell, sensing her discomfort. "Sometimes I notice things that may be helpful, or may be harmful, but I just have to tell it like I see it. I'm not trying to interpret the facts, just uncover them." Nell was picking at some invisible lint on her pants.

"Nell, just tell me," Kensi said quietly.

"Well… ok. It was like looking at the pair of pictures in the newspaper where you're supposed to find the differences, you know? I kept thinking the accounts of what happened to Boyle were almost the same, but not quite. So I drew out the scene suggested by each statement and the police report. I found it. The difference. Boyle's body."

Kensi nodded her head. "I found the same discrepancy. I spoke to Hetty, and I believe the discrepancy no longer exists." Now it was Nell's turn to nod. Noticing that Nell still looked squeamish, she asked, "Did you find anything else, Nell?"

"No, it's just that…well I know I said I wouldn't interpret the facts, but it does seem that, um, you know," she faltered, gesturing towards Marty, "it means that he, uh, probably was the—oh, don't make me say it!"

Kensi walked over to the chair Nell sat in and knelt down until they were eye level, resting one hand on Nell's arm. "Nell, you and I both know that Deeks could not stand by and watch a woman being beaten, especially knowing it went on frequently. You and I both know that a drug-abusing detective with a penchant for prostitutes and an attitude that his badge gave him wings to fly above the law could only end badly. And you and I know that Hetty, Mrs. Deeks, and I would do anything to protect him." Kensi's chin was quivering by the end of her speech.

Nell swallowed. "Yes, Kensi. Me too. Count me in," she said, giving Kensi a hug. Kensi conveyed her thanks with an extra squeeze.

Nell stood and stretched, tidied up her coffee cups, and gathered her things to go. With her hand on the door she turned and looked back at Kensi stroking Deeks' cheek and talking softly to him. She shivered, thinking of the lengths she would go to protect Eric, picturing him lying there for a brief moment. She and Kensi were a lot alike. Like family.

Over the next couple hours, Kensi rambled on about anything she could think of. One of the nurses brought in a newspaper, and she even read that aloud, getting her Dear Abby fix while still talking to Deeks. Somewhere near the end of the third letter, which was from a woman who had caught her husband with their daughter's girl scout leader, Kensi was shocked when the newspaper was thumped from underneath. She jumped and threw the paper in the floor. Deeks' eyes crinkled in amusement at her reaction.

He reached up and pulled the oxygen mask down past his chin. "Really Kens?" he teased in a hoarse voice. "You make fun of me for the horoscope!" He looked up at her, and saw tears threatening to spill over her dark lashes. "Hey, it's ok," he soothed her, reaching his hand up to her cheek.

"Oh, Baby, it's so good to hear you talk—for once!" She half laughed, half sobbed as she held his hand in both of hers. "I mean, I knew you would be ok, but I needed you to talk to me so I could be sure."

"I'll remember that the next time you tell me to be quiet!" He attempted to stretch a little after lying in bed for so long, but his body protested. When he winced, Kensi went into protective mode. Funny, a year ago she would have told him to suck it up and not be such a baby.

"Oh my gosh, let me call the nurse," she said as she reached over him to press the call button. He caught her hand midway. He was breathing heavily.

"Wait," he managed to pant. "I need to talk to you before anyone else comes in here."

"Deeks, Baby, you need-" she stopped as he managed to put one finger on her lips to shush her. "Ok," she mumbled, with his finger still on her lips.

"Kensi, this is serious," he said. She knew it must be if he didn't use a nickname for her. She saw beads of perspiration forming on his brow and upper lip, so she decided not to argue with him to avoid causing him any more exertion than necessary. He swallowed and closed his eyes for a second, suddenly losing his nerve. Conservation of words—be direct. "Kensi, I did it. I killed Boyle."

Kensi inhaled as though she were going to respond, but he held up his hand to silence her again, wanting to get it all in the open before she reacted, or she may never hear him out. "I think I had been hit on the head, or maybe I just blocked it, but I honestly didn't remember until right before I woke up earlier. My mind has been playing tricks on me for years—nightmares and flashes of memories- and I thought it was just guilt over not helping Tina, but it must have been guilt over killing Boyle."

Overcome by the gravity of his own actions, he turned away from her. Kensi was surprised to see him shiver suddenly, and she moved closer to him, turning his face toward hers and forcing him to look at her. The pain in his eyes was stunning and took her attention away from the heat radiating off his cheeks. His voice was hardly above a whisper. "I know that you will have a hard time with this, Kens. As soon possible, I need to get Bates in here and confess to him. I just want it to be over. I know that you can't be with a murderer, and I would never ask you to wait for me." He said it all in a rush to get it over with.

Tears were pooling in his eyes, and he tried not to blink and send them streaming down his face. "I am so, so sorry. I ruined everything!" The emotions, stress, and exertion of talking for so long worked together to cause his breathing to become labored. Kensi had watched his oxygen level drop throughout his confession, and now she reached over and gently replaced the mask over his mouth and nose.

"Deeks, I know. I know you killed Boyle," Kensi said in a soothing voice that belied her concern. She noticed the perspiration again and thought now of how hot his cheeks felt in her hands.

"No, you couldn't know," he said through he mask. "I didn't even know."

"I didn't know, but I figured it out. And Deeks, I'm not going anywhere. You couldn't get me away from you with a crowbar," she smiled. She knew there was a much longer explanation needed, but the nurse had just entered the room.

"You're awake!" she said to Marty with a smile. Turning to Kensi, she said, "I thought you were going to let me know."

"Um, it just happened," she said with only a trace of guilt. The nurse busied herself checking his vitals. Kensi was a little concerned by her expression as she typed the readings into the computer. She pulled down the sheet to check the stab wounds in his abdomen, not even attempting to hide her startled look. Concern showed on Kensi's face as well when she looked over the nurse's shoulder and saw the red streaks and swelling surrounding the wounds.

"I want to play poker with both of you before I get out of here," Deeks said, lifting the mask away. "Neither of you can bluff worth a damn."

"Put that mask back," ordered the nurse. "I never gamble with my _patients_. I don't have the _patience_ for it," she joked to lighten the mood.

"See, Marty, if she's joking it can't be too bad," reasoned Kensi.

"I'll be right back," said the nurse, exiting the room.

"Look, I know this is the most bizarre of circumstances and the weirdest timing for us to have this conversation, but I want you to know that you are not going to prison," Kensi said, leaning over Marty once more.

He had an understandably confused look on his face, once again sliding the oxygen mask up. "Don't kid yourself, Kensi. LAPD hates a scandal. A rookie cop murders a veteran and covers it up for several years? I'll go away for life," he said dejectedly.

"Deeks, a witness came forward and made a statement saying that Tina killed Boyle, and you were knocked out and cuffed to a chair. We are waiting on final word that the charges have been dropped, but it looks promising." Kensi was hoping her encouraging news would bring some color back to his face, which had turned sickly white.

"But how? What witness?" he began, and then it hit him.

Nausea. Severe nausea. He was barely able to turn in the other direction before vomiting off the edge of the bed. Kensi jumped to action, grabbing the kidney-shaped container and the box of tissues off the tray table that had been pushed aside. She wiped his mouth, and held the container under his chin. In between heaves, she managed to press the call button.

As wave after wave of nausea hit, Kensi noticed one of his arms wrapped around his ribcage, while the other supported his abdomen. She heard someone coming and yelled for help. Two nurses and a doctor scurried into the room. Other hands took over holding the container, and she was more or less pushed away from the bed.

She detected shadows at the door, and looked there to find Sam and Callen leaning in, their concern evident as they saw Deeks struggling. Sam held his hand out to Kensi and said, "Come on, let's get out of the way so they can help him."

Kensi resisted until the doctor pulled Marty's arm away from his abdomen to reveal the blood-soaked covers. Sam barely made it to her before her knees buckled. He swooped her up and carried her out of the room and down the hall, with Callen just ahead of him, opening doors. There was a couch in the waiting room, and Sam put her down gently on that, placing a pillow under her knees and propping her feet up on the arm. A nurse had followed them down the hall, and bent down to take Kensi's pulse and blood pressure.

"Stop, stop, I'm fine," she protested. The nurse, however, would not let her sit up until some color came back to her face, and then took her pulse and pressure again.

"Keep her quiet and still for a little while," she instructed the men. "I'll be right back with some juice and crackers." Upon hearing that, Kensi realized she had only eaten a sandwich over the last two days, and was sure that had contributed to her embarrassing condition.

"I am so much tougher than this," she grumbled, shaking her head. "I'm not squeamish around blood, and I never swoon!" she insisted. "Sam, Callen…one of you, please go back and find out how he is," she implored.

"Kensi, they will come and tell us. They can take care of him better if we're not in the way," assured Callen. "Anyway, we brought news. The murder charge against Deeks has been dropped," he said brightly.

"What about his mom?" she asked.

Sam explained, "At first, they did say she would be charged with accessory after the fact. Then Deeks' buddy Jay told them he would use the battered woman syndrome as a defense, and threatened to bring charges against the department for continuing to employ an officer with so many complaints of excessive force against him. Turns out LAPD hates a scandal, so all charges were dropped."

"Yeah, they hate a scandal," Kensi echoed. The nurse arrived back with juice and some peanut butter crackers, which Kensi accepted gratefully. She asked quietly, "Do you know anything about him? Deeks—Marty Deeks?"

"Yes, I asked for you. They will take him for a CT scan as soon as they can control the vomiting. There is obviously some infection, and that's causing the fever and nausea."

"Can't they just pump him full of antibiotics?" Callen wondered.

"They will," remarked the nurse, "but it may also be necessary to put in a drain tube if the infection is severe enough. The CT scan will pinpoint the location and size of the it."

She turned her attention back to Kensi. "I know you're worried, but I don't want you to become a patient, so you have to have regular meals and get more rest." She looked at Callen and Sam, her expression making it clear that she expected them to see to it that her directions were followed. They both nodded their agreement.

After Michelle had brought up a proper meal, Sam and Callen made Kensi lie in one of the recliner/sleepers that the waiting room provided for family members, setting up a barricade and daring anyone to disturb her. She had protested until the moment her head hit the pillow provided by the desk nurse, but her body would no longer be denied the rest it needed.

After a couple of hours, the nurse who had helped Kensi came back to the waiting room, and introduced the attending physician to the two agents. The doctor said, "We finally got through the CT scan, which was tricky because of the nausea. We did find a large pocket of infection between the two stab wounds, so we inserted a tube to drain it." Sam nodded while Callen flinched at this news.

"All of the heaving reopened his lacerations, so we are back to square one on that account. Hopefully, by the time he wakes up, the antibiotics and the drain will have helped his nausea and fever to subside." The doctor crossed his arms, resting them on his chest.

"There's more, isn't there," Sam said, eyeing the doctor suspiciously. "What aren't you telling us?"

"I should be telling this to his wife," remarked the doctor, motioning towards Kensi.

Callen started to tell the doctor that Kensi was not Deeks' wife, but he decided to roll with it. "Believe me, it's better if we intervene for you!" Callen assured him.

"Well, his fever spiked during the procedure, and he suffered a seizure." Sam drew in his breath.

"Any lasting damage?" Callen asked.

"Not that we can determine," answered the doctor.

"Is he in recovery?" Sam asked.

"Yes. He's not conscious yet, but you're welcome to go back if you'd like."

Sam decided to go and make sure Deeks woke to a familiar face, and left Callen to fill Kensi in when she woke up. Sam was uncomfortable in the bright light of the recovery room, hoping the fluorescent glow made Deeks look worse than he actually was. The bruises and stitches stood out starkly on his pale face. Sam felt like he was invading Deeks' privacy, being able to see tubes and drain bags, watching nurses pull back covers to check the incision and other wounds and watch for swelling. He was about to leave and go wake Kensi up to come and sit with him when Deeks started mumbling.

At first, there was gibberish with an occasional coherent word thrown in. Despite feeling slightly voyeuristic, Sam wondered what Deeks might reveal in such a state. He didn't have long to wait. "Leave her alone!" Deeks finally strung together in a raspy voice. His eyes were moving rapidly under his eyelids, his breath uneven. Thank goodness the nurse had just passed and wouldn't be back for another 15 minutes.

"Get away from her, Boyle—don't!" His body jerked and his eyes opened, blinking rapidly in the bright light as he worked out his surroundings. His hands were unmistakably clutching an imaginary gun.


	8. Chapter 8

"Hey Deeks. It's me, Sam. Look at me, Buddy." Deeks furrowed his brow as he looked at Sam. "Do you want some water?"

Deeks nodded, the fever having left him feeling parched. He drank eagerly from the straw Sam held for him.

"Thanks," Deeks said weakly. "Hey, where's Kensi?" he asked after waiting as long as he could without bringing her up—about ten seconds.

"We made her eat, then made her lie down. She was on her last leg."

"Is she all right?" He tensed until Sam nodded. "You _made_ her, huh? I'm gonna tell her you said that!" Sam grinned. Deeks nodded towards his body and asked, "So what are the damages?"

"Well, you've got a shiny new drain tube from your abdomen to drain the infection from your stab wounds, and another IV full of antibiotics. How do you feel?"

"Probably not as good as I look," Deeks joked.

"Well, you look like crap, Deeks!"

"In that case, I feel worse than I look. Crap would be a step up."

Sam grinned, "I'll text Callen and have him wake Kensi up so she can come back here."

"No," Deeks protested. "Let her rest. Hey, talk to me. Tell me things," he said thickly, still fighting the anesthesia. "The witness statement. It's bogus, Sam. Who is it?"

"Deeks, I don't know if I should tell you," Sam said cautiously.

"I want everyone to stop protecting me! I am a murderer!" he said, beginning to get agitated. Sam put his hand on Deeks' arm and nodded toward the nurse, who looked up from one of the other patients.

"Deeks, I know." He lowered his voice and leaned closer. "I read Boyle's file, and I'm surprised someone didn't do it sooner. The guy had it coming in the worst way. He probably would've killed that woman. Good news is, the witness who came forward isn't facing any charges, and neither are you. Your buddy Jay really came through."

"Who is it, Sam?" asked Deeks again, with a look that conveyed his determination to get to the truth.

Sam was afraid to let Deeks get more agitated. He sighed and held up his hands in surrender. "Your mom, Deeks."

Deeks looked like he was going to be sick. He was trying to fight through the medication to think clearly and make sense of it all. Memories of what had happened recently were jumbled with older memories. "That's where she went…that's why she left…but she couldn't have known…did somebody…Hetty! Hetty got her to do it! I can't let her do it, Sam!"

"It's already been done, Deeks. Like I said, your mom isn't facing any charges. As for Hetty, I have no idea if she had anything to do with it, but nothing would surprise me."

The nurse made it back. She looked suspiciously at Sam as she took in Deeks' elevated blood pressure and rapid respirations. She called over an orderly who began to ready Deeks' bed for transport. Turning to Sam she said, "We are moving him back to his room now. Why don't you go on back to the waiting area, and I will come and get you when he's settled in?"

Understanding her motives, Sam wrestled with guilt at agitating Deeks. "Don't worry about anything, just get better," he said over his shoulder as the nurse practically pushed him out of the recovery area.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kensi felt so much better when she woke up that she couldn't even stay mad at Callen and Sam. That changed when Sam told her that he divulged the identity of the witness to Deeks. "Damn it, Sam! That wasn't your call!"

"Kensi, he made it my call! He was shouting to the room that was a murderer. It was much better for me to let him know that we all know, and neither he nor his mom are facing charges."

"So, wait—you know? Both of you?" asked Kensi, pointing to Sam and Callen.

"Well, we didn't at first, but we figured it out," said Callen. "And, you just confirmed it."

Kensi took a minute to guard her reaction and take into account the character of the two men who'd had her back for so many years. "Hey listen, I guess I'm a little protective."

Both men chuckled. "You think?" remarked Callen.

"I know he gets on everyone's nerves, but when you realize what he's seen and what he's dealt with and what kind of person he is in spite of everything and how good he is at his job and you know what's behind all the sarcasm…I just can't help it!"

"Kensi," said Sam. "You don't have to convince us. We know he's a good guy. That's why we haven't arrested him ourselves. He brings out a side of you that no one else does. He's good for you."

"Yeah," she answered with a small smile and a sniffle. "So how is he now? Any complications?"

Callen shifted uncomfortably and let Sam take the lead. "They did put in a drain to get rid of the infection, and he's on serious antibiotics. His fever spiked during the procedure and he had a seizure." Kensi's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. "It's not uncommon, Kensi, and the doctor said there's no lasting damage. He came out of the anesthesia just fine." All in all, she took it well, and was resigned to the fact that the doctors and nurses were all more than capable, and were more help to him than she could be right now. Sam and Callen were called to the mission, so they left Kensi to pace the waiting room alone.

Kensi ended up covering the area in a triangle—from the elevators to the seating area to the nurses' desk. She sighed loudly several times, but other than that, she remained quiet. It was killing her.

Finally, the desk attendant motioned to her. "You can go in now."

Aware that she was smiling like an idiot, Kensi hurried to the room. Deeks had fallen asleep again, but he woke up despite Kensi's efforts to slide into the chair quietly.

"Hey," said Deeks, gesturing toward the sign behind him, "it says no smoking when oxygen is in use, and Babe, you are smokin' hot!"

Kensi's laugh ended in a snort. "You are so corny! But at least you can talk better with the nostril thingy than with the oxygen mask. Although this makes me picture you as a ninety year old pervert leering after little blue-haired ladies."

"You know what they say about nursing homes—the highest percentage of STD's in the country!"

"Ewww!" Kensi laughed, laying her hands on his cheeks, then checking his forehead. "Hey, your fever has gone down," she smiled.

"Well that is good news, indeed," came Hetty's voice from the doorway. Roberta, who was standing beside her, pushed past her to go to the other side of the bed.

She leaned down and kissed Marty's cheek. "Hi, Honey," she said.

Deeks smiled at his mother, then looked from her to Hetty. "What kind of scheme did the two of you cook up?" he asked. "Mom, I know you made a statement to the police. I can't believe you did that! You could have been charged with obstruction of justice, or accessory to murder. Why would you take that kind of chance?" He turned to Hetty. "How could you let her? That was not your place, Hetty."

Roberta straightened up. "Now wait just a minute, Martin. The statement was my idea. Not only that, I thought of it years ago. Hetty had no choice but to help me, just like you had no choice but to…to do what you did." She hesitated. "I was there." He looked at her, perplexed. "I was there right afterwards. Tina was a client at the shelter where I worked, Marty. I knew about her trouble with the dirty cop. She had called me and I came in to find you passed out and cuffed. I didn't know what to do."

Hetty walked closer. "The world is incredibly small, Mr. Deeks. You knew Tina, your mother knew Tina, and as it happens, I knew Tina." Both Deeks and Kensi looked shocked. "She was the rebellious daughter of a distant relative; one of many bitter fruits from our family tree. She was shaken up and bruised when I picked her up from the bus station in San Francisco, where I was living at the time. She told a tale of a violent, power-crazed detective who made her miserable life even more so. There was another officer, however. One who was kind and awkward, talked too much, and was very… human. That officer saved her from the first, and for that she was eternally grateful. So was I.

"It was at that point that I took an interest in said detective, and started paying attention to his career successes and his potential. I eventually took a job in LA and involved my team in an op he was running for the LAPD. And the rest is, as they say, history."

Kensi and Deeks both wore stunned expressions. Kensi spoke first, "So you knew Deeks killed Boyle even before he became the LAPD liaison?" Hetty nodded.

"Why would you do that? Why would you come after me to join with you?" wondered Deeks.

"Why did you kill Boyle?" Hetty asked rhetorically. "You killed him to protect Tina, at great risk to yourself. That kind of selflessness makes for a good agent. I thought it was fitting to protect you as well. "

The room was quiet for several minutes while everyone attempted to process the information. Finally, Deeks spoke. "I don't know what to say. Thank you Hetty, for investing in me. Thank you, Mom, for sticking your neck out to protect me-again. And thank you, Kens, for looking past my actions to find something to believe in." Deeks looked incredibly sad. "It was all for nothing, though. Tina died in a sad, horrible way anyway."

"Mr. Deeks, your memory has been like a puzzle that is missing lots of key pieces. Over the past couple of days, you found some that were missing, but there are others you know nothing about. I am about to do something I almost never do. I'm going to hand over all of the pieces. This will be a puzzle no more."

Kensi, Deeks, and Roberta all wore expressions with varying degrees of confusion. "You have to get used to all the metaphors," Kensi said to Mrs. Deeks as Hetty walked to the door and motioned for someone to come in.

A young woman in her early thirties entered in the room, looking nervous. She held the hand of a little girl around four years old. She was attractive, but not glaringly beautiful, her shoulder length hair hiding the knitted collar of the leather bomber jacket that had been repaired on the right sleeve. Hetty motioned for her to approach the bed, and Kensi moved aside.

Deeks kept his eyes on the woman's face, not wanting to jump to conclusions and look silly by overreacting. The woman was biting her bottom lip, looking like she was unsure of whether or not to smile. She finally looked up as she neared the bed, and her eyes met Deeks'.

Whatever composure she had been trying to maintain evaporated as she moved to his bedside. Deeks' arms reached over the bedrail, as her free arm encircled his neck. Kensi cast a questioning glance to Hetty, who confirmed it with a nod. Roberta approached Hetty and drew her in for a Deeks-style hug before she could protest.

After a full minute, the little girl tugged on her mother's hand. "Mommy! What's wrong? Why are you crying? I thought you said this was a nice man!" She sounded worried.

The woman bent down and picked up her daughter. "Look what I did, Detective," she said, sniffing. She accepted the tissue from Hetty gratefully.

"I am so happy for you!" Marty said earnestly. "How?" he asked.

"I wanted to thank you in person, and let you know that if it weren't for you, I would never have turned my life around. If I was worth that much to you, then I should be able to get my act together. I knew that what you did might cause a good man like you a lot of turmoil and guilt. I may not be able to ease all of it for you, but please know that because of you there are three more happy people in this world. I couldn't let the gift of another chance go unnoticed." She reached for his hand while the little girl squirmed to get down. "Martie Ann, say hello." Everyone in the room reacted upon hearing the name.

"Hello," she said before turning back to her mother. "Can I get down now?"

"Wait a minute, squirmy worm. This is an old friend of mine. You know what his name is?" The child shook her head impatiently. "His name is Marty!"

"Hey, is he the first Marty? The one you told me about?" asked the child, picking up Deeks' hand from its grip on the bedrail. "The Superhero? Did you fall out of the sky?" she asked, taking in his appearance.

Deeks grinned through his tears. He squeezed the child's hand. "They are recharging my superhero batteries. Do you have any super powers?"

"Well, Daddy says that when I run fast, my legs are just a blur!" Martie Ann said excitedly.

"Hey, that can be your superhero name-The Blur!" said Deeks, giving her a high-five. It never ceased to amaze Kensi that Marty was able to put children at ease right away. Children and dogs—aren't they supposed to be the best at judging character?

Roberta offered to take Martie Ann to get a soft drink so the others could talk. In the briefest account possible, Hetty explained that she had seen to it that Tina got a new identity as soon as possible after picking her up in San Francisco. She put the young woman through school, and Tina was able to get a job, meet a nice young man (though not a preacher), and settle down. So far she had just one child, but she and her husband wanted more. It sounded nice, neat, and easy when told in summary, but Hetty knew it was affirming for both Tina and Marty to only hear the best parts of the story repeated.

As for the DNA evidence found in the hotel room in San Francisco, and Tina's record for drug trafficking? Hetty made it clear that she used her resources to protect those who were important to her. Again and again.

When Roberta came back in with the child, it was obvious that both Martie Ann and Marty needed to call it a day. Kensi had to awaken Deeks to say goodbye. He immediately drifted off again, wearing an expression of total relaxation and peace. Kensi thanked Tina for providing the best comfort he could have had. She was sure his healing would be accelerated now that his mind was at ease.

When Roberta and Hetty left, Kensi leaned over the hospital bed, looking adoringly at him. "Do you have any idea how much I love you right now?" she whispered.

She was surprised when Marty answered, "No, but I hope it's reflected in the amount of make up sex we have when I get out of here."

"Make up sex? But we weren't fighting!" she giggled.

"Well," he answered sleepily, "we have to make up for lost time!"

The next day, Lt. Bates stopped by the hospital. He made small talk, but Deeks could tell he seemed uncomfortable. "What's up, Lieutenant? You've got something on your mind, I can tell."

"Deeks, I'll just get to it. This whole situation has been…difficult for the department to get past. I've been instructed to let you go."

Deeks looked out the window. "No, um, I can understand that it would…." his voice trailed off. "I just can't see myself not being a cop." He sighed, then turned back to face Bates with a forced smile. "I know how much LAPD hates a scandal," he said. He extended his hand. "Hey, man, I appreciate everything you've done for me. I know what a pain in the ass I can be." Bates agreed, but Marty could tell he hated the situation. Life goes on.

Kensi was right. Marty did make remarkable progress now that he had so many burdens lifted from his shoulders. He was able to go home as soon as the IV antibiotics were finished and his drain was clear of infection.

Once they were home, much to the surprise of everyone except Marty, it turned out Kensi was an excellent nurse. Especially when she wore the nurse's outfit Marty had bought her from "that store" downtown.

One day while Kensi was at work, Hetty came over. She got a folder out of her briefcase that Marty recognized at once. He had seen it before. "What about now?" she asked.

"Now works for me," he answered with a grin. He signed the papers making him an agent with a flourish. "Don't tell the others. I want to have some fun with this," he grinned.

Hetty reached over and ruffled his hair. "I have wanted to do that for years, but it seemed inappropriate before," she grinned. There was a knock at the door. "By the way, it's too late," she said mischievously.

"Too late for what?" he asked, headed out to answer the door.

"This way, Agent Deeks," said the chauffeur, motioning toward the waiting stretch limo parked in the street. Through the vehicle's open door Deeks could see the whole team—even Granger, with party hats on their heads and drinks in their hands. Deeks pumped both hands in the air and ran Rocky-style to the waiting limo. Just before getting in, he circled back to the front walk and picked Hetty up, jogging back with her.

"Put me down before you re-injure yourself, you cheeky bugger!" she laughed. Suffice it to say, it was a good party.

The following Monday, Deeks went back to work. He was wearing the Superman t-shirt Martie Ann had sent in the mail along with a drawing of him holding back a boulder that was about to flatten a kitten. There was a scribble of red, yellow, and blue next to his leg. "What's that?" asked Kensi, looking over his shoulder.

"That's the Blur," he smiled.


End file.
